


First Christmas

by tofadeawayagain



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cars, Christmas, F/M, Forced Marriage, In-Laws, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofadeawayagain/pseuds/tofadeawayagain
Summary: Hermione and Draco are married per a Ministry Decree. They are distant, live separately, and only meet once a week for lunch. Although Draco is trying, Hermione remains cold. Perhaps preparing for their first holiday gathering at her parents' house will help to melt the ice?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 204





	First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bionically](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/gifts).



> Disclaimers: The characters are not mine, I promise. This work was not beta'd, so apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> Happy Birthday to Bionically! I hope you enjoy this little slice of a fic! *showers Bionically with confetti and much cake*

He had visited her flat only a few times previously. Unlike the manor, it was always cozy and warm. This time, it also glittered. Christmas decorations were everywhere, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the Potter boys were responsible for the multitude of paper chains hanging from the ceiling.

Crookshanks was lying on his back, batting at a bauble dangling from the Christmas tree, but his owner was nowhere in sight. Draco bent down next to the cat and scratched beneath his chin, watching as the fake snow in a nearby snow globe repeatedly drafted downward and flurried back to the top in a neat swirl.

It was strange being in Granger’s space without her present. The place felt homey in a way the manor never had. It was just like her, he thought - the books organized neatly on the shelves, like her mind. The rest of the sitting room just the right amount of disheveled, like her hair. She’d been up to his rooms only once during her initial tour of the manor. Was his living space the same? A reflection of him? He supposed it must be. Cold, impersonal, too neatly put together. Everything tucked away in its proper storage compartment.

The front door swung open and revealed Hermione. She was wrapped in the blue peacoat he’d given her last night, stamping snow from her boots and into the carpet in the corridor. A bit of warmth ran up his spine – he was pleased to see her actually wearing his gift.

She looked up and jumped at the sight of him sitting on her floor, playing with her cat. “You’re early,” she muttered, entering the room and closing the door softly behind her.

“Just a bit. Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas. I’ve just been downstairs to warm up the car… it’s bloody cold out there.”

“We’re not taking the Floo?” he asked, stomach jolting in excitement. He didn’t want to admit it to her face, but he’d always wanted to drive in a car.

She shook her head, melting snowflakes glistening in her hair. “No.” Her face took on a determined look that he associated with lectures about abusing his prefect status, and he braced himself. “Right,” she said firmly. “There’s some stuff you need to know before we head to my parents’ house.”

He stood up, leaving Crookshanks to his own amusement. Hermione’s eyes widened as he straightened. “You’re wearing an ugly sweater,” she whispered, gaping at him.

He looked down at his chest, fighting the urge to wrinkle his nose or make a harsh retort. “Potter said it was a Granger Christmas tradition…”

She nodded, her eyes still wider than he’d ever seen them. “I thought you wouldn’t want to wear one, so…”

“Granger. In the future, you should ask me and let me decide for myself instead of making assumptions.” He gritted his teeth. _It’s Christmas_ , he told himself, _don’t snap at her on Christmas_. He forced what he hoped was a convincing smile onto his face. “I’d like your family to like me one day. If wearing an ugly sweater helps, then I’ll gladly wear it.” At least his words rang true, even to his own ears.

She nodded and sat back on the couch, looking sheepish. “I… yes, I’ll do that.”

He sat across from her in a well worn armchair. “What is it I need to know?”

“My parents don’t take kindly to magic being used in their home, at the moment.”

There it was. The important information bomb, dropped with all the subtlety of an anvil.

“Or any magic at all, really,” she added hurriedly, not meeting his eyes.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, allowing his frustration to show. He was sick of hiding it from her. “This would have been excellent to know before I did my shopping for their gifts, Hermione.”

She froze in place on the couch. “What gifts?” she asked. “You bought them gifts?”

The last few weeks really had been illuminating for him. His control broke for the first time in years, and he felt the mental dam break in a flood of emotion. She must think incredibly lowly of him. “They are my in-laws. Of course I bought them gifts. I know you prefer to believe that I’m some sort of uncivilized monster, but I’m actually quite well-versed in social politesse.”

She tried to interrupt him, but he held up a hand. “I think I’ve been incredibly clear that I am going to do everything in my power to make this marriage work. If that means years of impersonal Wednesday lunches with my wife, then I’ll do it. If it means I have to learn to deal with your continual shock at any gesture of sincerity such as wanting to attend a holiday with your family or giving them gifts – fine. I’ll learn.” He fought to keep his hands from shaking with the emotion coursing through him. “I’ve known for a long time that I’ll have to spend the rest of my life proving myself to the public over and over again. I’m not sure why I didn’t realize I’d need to do the same with you.”

He took a deep breath to calm himself, then stood up and faced the hearth. He didn’t want to look at her. Didn’t want her to see that he was less angry than he was hurt.

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Hermione finally whispered.

“Well, that’s certainly not the impression you’re giving off,” he snapped. He glanced over his shoulder at her, shocked to see that she seemed more relaxed now than she had when they’d begun the conversation.

The fire crackled merrily, oblivious to the ice in the room. They were silent, interrupted only by the sound of Crookshanks assaulting another tinkling ornament on the tree.

“Why?” he prompted, grasping to regain control over his emotional display. “Why do they disapprove of magic?”

“Because I’ve been a horrible daughter to them,” she breathed, guilt saturating her tone. “I did them wrong.”

“How do you mean?” he asked, confused and ready for the conversation to be over. Hermione “Save-the-Elves” Granger wasn’t capable of doing much of anything wrong, in his experience.

“I Obliviated them.”

There was silence again for only a beat before he turned away from the hearth to face her, gaping. Surely the woman who worked tirelessly to prosecute those who had abused their power on Muggles, the woman who showed such disdain to anyone who dared to treat Muggles as if they were lesser…

She held his gaze, chin in the air. “During that last year of the war. Things were getting bad. I knew it was a matter of time before he took over the Ministry. I knew there’d be some kind of mandatory registry before long – I mean, really, it was World War II all over again. It should have been clear to anyone, but since when have wizards bothered to concern themselves with Muggle history?” She peered up at him, her cheeks flushed with fresh shame.

“I was going to hunt for horcruxes with Harry, and if a registry happened, I didn’t want to risk it. I didn’t want anyone to come calling, to hurt them in order to find me. So I Obliviated them.” She raised her hands into the air, gesturing at nothing, before bringing her hands back to her lap. “I took everything. All of their memories of me. I completely erased myself. And then, while they were still recovering, I used Legilimancy to plant the idea that they were moving to Australia in their heads. I gave them new names… closed their dental practice indefinitely. Packed the whole house in boxes and bought plane tickets for them.” She shrugged. “And they left.”

He finally managed to regain some level of composure. “Does the Ministry know about this?”

She nodded. “They helped me to get treatment for them at St. Mungo’s when it was all over. They didn’t punish me… I deserved to be punished, I acted no better than a Dea-” She cut herself off, somehow managing to look more guilty as he met her eyes. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he shook his head.

He walked the few steps to her side and sat next to her on the couch, grasping her arm gently. “There’s a big difference between what you did and what people like my father would have done, Granger.” She looked down at her knees, and he gave her forearm another squeeze. “You saved them, you know. That was one of Dolohov’s assignments, to track down all the families of Muggleborns and destroy them. The Dark Lord said it was to prevent more Muggleborn children. Stupid, really. Magic will choose its vessels, and no man can control that. Anyway – Dolohov got most of them. The Finch-Fletchley family, the Creeveys… but not the Grangers. You hid them well.”

He wished she’d let him see her sadness, but he supposed he’d caused too many tears in the past to have earned the right to wipe them away now. She did let him offer comfort by brushing his hand over her knuckles, though. That was something. Small, but something all the same.

It was with a considerably stuffy voice that she began the conversation again. “They don’t trust me with a wand, you see. And I don’t blame them for that. I’ll be leaving mine here… so, while we’re there, can you keep yours out of sight? I know it’s a lot to ask, but-”

“I don’t like the idea of you being wandless, but I understand,” he admitted.

“I don’t like it either, but they are my parents. If I want to see them, it has to be on their terms for now.” She cleared her throat and stood up, moving into the kitchen. He stood too, and put on his coat as he heard the distinct sound of cat food hitting a porcelain bowl.

He watched her wander the flat, locking the windows and blocking the Floo, tossing the last few gifts under the tree into her bottomless beaded bag. She was usually so emotional, but her face was completely composed. He supposed she’d have learned to shut down emotions in order to work successfully as a lawyer, but it was unnerving from someone he generally considered to be an open book.

She motioned for him to follow her to the door, and used a key to lock up. They walked down the stairs into the entry hall, and she stopped just before opening the door that let out into the car park. “Listen, about the gifts. They can’t expect you to have known about the no-magic thing. You’ve never lived that way. They won’t expect gifts at all, let alone something out of your comfort zone, so-”

He pushed the door open to cut off her rambling. “Potter said your dad likes football, so if that’s true then I’m not too worried. And your mum likes the opera, right? You mentioned going to see one with her a few months ago at lunch…”

She nodded, bewildered, and followed him out into the snow.

“Well, good. I’ll take your dad to see the Manchester United game as planned in February, and in January you’ll be able to take your mum to La Boheme in London.” He paused and glanced back at her, uncertain.

She smiled, and her honey brown eyes lit up with a warmth he rarely got to see. “Those are perfect gifts, Draco. Truly.”

He ducked his head, hiding his smile. “As for the magic bits of the gift… you and I could use the Quidditch tickets and go see the opera in Wizarding Venice together. If you’d like, I mean.”

She goggled at him for a moment, her breath making perfect little clouds as she exhaled into the cold air. Finally, she nodded. “Sounds lovely.” He’d heard that phrase from her a lot during the wedding planning, often used sarcastically. For the first time, she sounded sincere.

“Good. That’s settled, then.” He looked around the car park. “Now… where’s this car of yours? I’ve never ridden in one, and I’m rather looking forward to it.”

Her smile widened. “You’ve never ridden in one? Not even at a Ministry party?”

“Never,” he confirmed, elated that the warmth in her eyes hadn’t yet faded. He decided to throw her a bone, since she’d been so forthcoming about her parents. “Blaise showed me his Italian sports car models when I was a little boy, and I fancied myself a race car driver after that. Naturally, my father put a stop to that nonsense, but… sometimes I still wonder what it would be like to drive one.”

To his shock, she giggled and tugged on his sleeve. “Well, it’s no Ferrari, but… let’s make a dream come true today.”

As he entered the car, he couldn’t help but feel like maybe more than one dream might come true. Maybe he’d be able to talk his wife into a dinner date soon, instead of just their distant Wednesday lunch. Maybe he could stop looking at tabloid headlines such as “Malfoy Marriage Melting?” in the future.

Maybe, just maybe, she’d give him the chance to prove himself once and for all.

**Author's Note:**

> I started this one-shot for a Christmas challenge - the idea quickly morphed into a much longer, much darker upcoming marriage law WIP in which Hermione *gasp* goes to jail for crimes against her Muggle parents. I never finished the one-shot as I never thought it would see the light of day...
> 
> Then I saw Bionically's list of likes, and I thought it just might be a great birthday surprise! Wishing you all the best!


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